The shit jobs always seem to find me.  I get them all; the ones that other wiser souls managed to avoid.  But somehow I slipped through the cracks and landed here in this undesirable scene wholly lacking fulfillment. And yet happily my life has other purpose; other triumphs and solitary moments of spiritual quest as the raison d’etre becomes apparent to casual observers as we learn how to let it all rip out without the utter sense

of despair or failure; for want of a few greenbacks we’ll easily transform into whore; an operatic voice would elevate my soul but only for a few moments and then I sink back into oblivion.  In the void, I dance freely avoiding the glaring spotlights with near religious zeal.  Alone with a pen and paper and a few choice words come gushing forth in stammering and glimmering under fluorescent light.  Perhaps as I cling to the notion of being a poet for the supposed glory and the grandeur associated with being known as a bard of any degree at all.



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